


Gospel

by orphan_account



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 10:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5286854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Black widow railroad agent seduces Deacon. She’s propaganda. She’s advertisement. She’s doctrine, dogma and determination, and tonight she’s gonna find the god damn promised land.</p><p>Written for the Fallout kmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gospel

Charmer takes a long, slow pull on her cigarette, tilts her head, opens her mouth and lets the smoke escape slowly. She curves freshly painted lips the same way she would curve them around a cock, breathes like she’s on the edge of some secret pleasure. It’s all about the display. Figure-hugging red dress, sheer stockings, perfectly coiffed hair: they’re all elements of a carefully constructed work of art. No, not an artwork – art was open to interpretation. She’s got too much _intent_. She’s propaganda. She’s advertisement. She’s doctrine, dogma and determination, and tonight she’s gonna find the god damn promised land.

He’s watching her again, dressed like a gangster, puffing on a cigarette of his own. He’s ditched the sunglasses – too out of place in the smoky darkness of the Third Rail, presumably – but his hat is tugged down to hide his eyes. She’s always liked that about him. He keeps the shutters barred on those windows to the soul, winds himself tight like a noose. That suits her perfectly. The guarded ones vibrate at the highest frequencies. They make the sweetest sounds when they shatter in her hands.

They’ve shared few words, but she feels like she knows him already. He certainly knows her. He’s been following her for weeks, thinking himself hidden behind his many and varied masks. He’ll find those masks a poor defence against the coming rapture. Before the night is over, he’ll be begging her to know his truest self.

Charlie brings her another drink. She knows the robot loves it when she visits, knows that the dress and the stockings and the hair are exactly the things to get his mechanical heart racing. He gave Magnolia the night off when Charmer walked in. She’s a drawcard Charlie doesn’t have to pay. She doesn’t take tips, either, and more caps in the patrons’ pockets means more caps in Charlie’s till at closing time. She’s free with her conversation, easy with her smiles, and not at all shy with her smouldering looks. The locals love her. Magnolia’s a great singer, but Charmer is gospel. The drifters are her choir. Without her, they’re as good as lifeless.

But he’s different. She can feel him burning from across the room, hot enough to make a Geiger counter tick. When a man leans in to whisper something suggestive in her ear, she can feel his eyes on the back of her neck and sense him digging his fingernails into his palms. When she traces lazy circles on her exposed knee, she knows he’s mirroring the movement. She knows he’s biting his lip and imagining what it would feel like to run his palm up her thigh. The noose around his neck is looking for a woman to tighten it. Charmer is more than willing.

She dwells amongst her choir all evening. She’s been drinking, but she’s not drunk. Her fingertips tingle, but it’s from anticipation rather than intoxication. Ten minutes to closing and she shakes loose her satellites. They scatter like gamma rays and fade into the aether, but he hasn’t moved an inch. His hat’s still hiding his eyes, but she knows he’s looking at her nonetheless. His gaze is a tether that’s been pulling her towards him for weeks. It’s time they finally collided.

“Deacon.” He flinches at the sound of his codename. Perhaps he thought he’d gone unobserved. She slips into the booth beside him, crosses her legs. He gets a flash of black lace panties as she moves, and the flush that creeps up his neck is like red cloth to a bull. “You look a little lonely over here. Let me change that.”

“What, me? I’m totally fine. Didn’t even see you over there. How’s it going?”

“ _I’m_ lonely.” She leans forward, adjusts her posture so that he can see almost straight down the front of her dress. “Keep me company?”

“You didn’t look too lonely over there.” He doesn’t seem to notice the contradiction. “But sure,” he drawls. His voice is raspy from smoke and whiskey. He doesn’t normally drink, but he’s dancing to her tune tonight. “We could play cards, that’ll be a hoot. Are you any good at Caravan?”

“Cards bore me.” His eyes are on her breasts. She’s braless underneath her dress, and he can doubtless see her hardened nipples through the fabric. When he drags his gaze back up, she flutters her eyelashes and smiles indulgently. She leans in close, tips back his hat and brushes red lips against his ear. When she speaks, her voice is low and breathy. “I was thinking we could go out back, and you could show me a _real_ good time.”

His breathing catches. Oh, he’s been thinking about it. She’s been watching his fists clench and unclench all evening, watching him squirm in his seat as he undresses her with his eyes. He wants this. Needs it. He’s going to fuck her - there’s no doubt about it. It’s just a matter of _when_. 

She kisses him. It’s both gentle and hard, soft and demanding. He tastes like alcohol and cigarettes, smells like cheap cologne. He melts beneath her touch like wax, but the hard centre remains. His hands seize her elbows in a vice-like grip. His teeth dig into her lower lip. She climbs onto his lap, and she can feel his cock jutting into the underside of her thigh. There are angels singing in Charmer’s head. 

Charlie’s closing up the bar, ignoring the agents fraternizing in the corner.

He breaks the kiss, stares at her with wild eyes. There’s darkness in those eyes, all mixed up with guilt and buried under righteous purpose. He’s a hero and a villain. A revolutionary and a spy. A liar and a truth-speaker. “We can’t do this. HQ has rules about –“

“Compartmentalization.” The word is clinical, cold, but Charmer is liquid fire. She leans back into him, lets her lower lip catch on his stubble. Drags her mouth along his jawline, up to his ear. She can feel him shivering beneath her. “What Des doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

Suddenly, his hand is underneath her dress. Charmer gasps. It’s a practised sound, full of artful, breathy desire. It works, because she hears him groan as he palms her sex through the damp lace. She bites his earlobe, grinds her clit against his hand, and he swears under his breath. 

“Take me outside,” she whispers. “Push up my dress, tear off my panties and fuck me like an animal. HQ will never know.”

Charlie finally notices them. “Oi! Bar’s closed, sweetheart. Take your business outside.”

The man beneath her growls, but he doesn’t let her go. Charmer’s not budging either: she’s glimpsing the borders of nirvana, and no Mr. Handy is going to stand in the way of holy euphoria. He slides a hand under each of her thighs and lifts her up. She wraps her legs tight around his waist as he carries her up the stairs, kisses his jawline, sucks on his pulse point. He’s breathing like he’s running, and his heaving chest is rubbing the fabric of Charmer’s dress against her nipples. He hardly needs to look to find an abandoned alleyway. 

He’s been thinking about it.

They crash against the alley wall like a breaking wave and she cries out in delight. His hat’s askew and his tie comes loose while he unbuttons his pants. She rests against the wall to watch him. The concrete behind her is pricking at the back of her neck and catching on her dress, and Charmer can’t resist rubbing one swollen nipple through the fabric as she drinks him in. Her heels are making her unsteady on the cobblestones, but that’s a good thing. In this moment, she’s a picture of helpless feminine lust. His eyes are full of fire, and she’s ready to be consumed.

She makes a needy noise deep in her throat when his cock springs free. It’s thick and purple and hard, and he gives it one slow pump while he watches her reaction. Desire has parted her lips and disrupted her breathing. It’s quickened her fingers as she touches herself. He breathes deep like a man preparing to drown. With Charmer’s help, he’s going to see heaven.

She reaches out her free hand, palms his length and relishes his answering groan. “Take me right here in this alley.”

“How can I say no to such a reasonable request?”

He grabs her hips, lifting her up again, and Charmer’s neck and shoulders scrape on the concrete as he slams her against the wall. She grips his hips with her thighs, and it’s difficult and a little painful – but then he’s shoving her dress up around her waist, pushing her sodden panties aside and guiding himself into her - and it’s like all her earthly hurts are healed. One, two shallow thrusts, then a third that leaves her gasping, and he’s buried in her up to the hilt. She pulls up his shirt and rakes her nails down his stomach, then cries out in pleasure as he starts fucking her properly. He screws like a man twice his size, with fast, powerful thrusts that have Charmer bouncing helplessly on his cock, grasping at the wall behind her head and whispering wordless prayers. He pauses just long enough to reach up one hand to tug down her bodice. Her breasts topple out, pale in the moonlight, then he’s driving into her again and she’s moaning in pleasure, her nipples painfully erect. His hat’s fallen down over his eyes, but she knows he’s watching her boobs bounce obscenely as he ploughs into her. She’s looking down as well, watching his cock as it’s swallowed up by her eager cunt. Again. Again. _Again_.

“Stop,” she commands.

For a moment, she thinks he’s going to disobey. His forehead creases, his mouth opens, his hips buck once, twice – but he stops and helps her down. He doesn’t quite pull out. Charmer pushes him off completely, feeling pre-come and her own juices leaking down her thigh. She rolls one nipple between her fingers, and he scowls.

Oh, how he wants her. Charmer lives for this feeling.

She turns her back on him. She leans forward, ass in the air, arms braced against the wall. She hikes her dress up and tugs her panties down around her knees, and her cunt shivers at the sound he makes. She can’t resist the urge to reach down and rub her clit. She sighs quietly, watches sweat run down her own bare breasts.

“Fuck me like this.”

He shoves his cock back inside her and she shrieks. Her head lolls against her forearm as he fucks her, his balls slapping loudly against her skin. His fingers dig into her hips. His thrusts are reaching the core of Charmer’s being, and she can’t help but moan each time he buries himself in her cunt. Her fingers trace familiar patterns on her clit, and a familiar fire is building deep inside her. He slaps her ass with the flat of his hand and it’s like he’s set off explosives at the base of her spine. She screams her release into the night air and the fucking angels are singing an accompaniment. His cock keeps pounding into her. Charmer doesn’t ever want it to stop.

But it has to eventually. His member swells that fraction further and he pulls out, splashing warm cum onto her sweaty ass, gasping and moaning and whimpering her name. Her real name, not the alias. She cranes her neck to watch him, and she’s glad she did. His face is a god damn work of art: lips parted, eyes closed, brows furrowed deeply beneath his slanted hat.

When he’s emptied himself, she straightens, tucking her breasts back inside her dress and pulling the fabric back down over her hips. Charmer doesn’t mind the gooey cum the dress is spreading across the backs of her thighs, but she pulls off her panties and leaves them in the gutter – there’s no hope of salvage there. He’s the one leaning against the wall now, face buried in the crook of his elbow, softening cock still hanging out of his pants. Charmer comes up behind and presses herself flush against him. She whispers something soothing in his ear. He’s seen the light of heaven, and it’s burned him.

It won’t be the last time.


End file.
